


Cannonball

by confettitty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, FLUFFY MOMENTS IN BETWEEN, M/M, Miya Atsumu-centric, Olympics AU, THERES VERY VERY MILD ANGST I SWEAR, a Lot of sex ., a lot of partying, alcohol consumption, atsumu gets nervous and then "haha we about to kiss rn ?", i promise its mostly fluff theyre both pining i swear, i'll make it all up by giving u lots and lots of fluff hehe, its just told from atsumu's pov, no beta we die like men, olympic village, sakusa and atsumu are gymnasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettitty/pseuds/confettitty
Summary: And here he is—heretheyare, looking at each other as though they’re the only ones in the room. Atsumu blames the flick of fear licking him up on the idea of potentially missing out on a hot European swimmer and definitely not on the obsessive thought that Atsumu might end up takingSakusahome instead if neither of them are going to break this off.Sakusa leans in closer. Atsumu’s fingers curl tightly around the bartop counter.Oh, god. What the fuck is happening?“Are we about to kiss right now?” Atsumu blurts out with a bout of incredulous laughter before he can even stop himself.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened, Atsumu genuinely thought that he had been mistaken.

To set a couple things straight—first of all, he doesn’t know if Sakusa was just messing around with him (it could all be for jokes and laughs, right?) but he isn’t exactly the type of person to do things “just for fun.” Atsumu may not be the smartest person in the room, but he knows that, at least, and he knew back then he couldn't have either.

Second of all, Atsumu really likes Sakusa, and by really, he means absolutely in _love_ with the man; loves the way he always carries around a small tube of hand cream because the powdered chalk from routine training dries out his hands too much and loves how he pretends he doesn’t like to be around Atsumu, except he knows better. But that’s the issue—Atsumu and Sakusa have been good friends since university.

They both happened to be varsity athletes on the gymnastics team of the University of Tokyo, and they had met then. Atsumu is certain they’re friends, and Sakusa wouldn’t just _do_ that if it meant washing their few years of friendship down the drain, unless it didn’t mean as much to Sakusa as it does to him. That’s really besides the point, though. The second truth is that, really, Atsumu had tasted the flutter in his throat and felt the squeeze in his chest, because he had been reading too much into it.

The first time wasn’t a mistake, just a terrible misunderstanding on Atsumu’s part.

See, the thing is, Atsumu never felt that Sakusa actually really _wanted_ to befriend him as much as he did —at least, Atsumu was the one putting in most of the effort. Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t mind. He could tell Sakusa wasn’t really the type of person to reach out first. He seemed to be alone most of the time. At first, Atsumu thought he might’ve just been a grouchy guy who had little interest in making friends, but over time he learned that Sakusa was— _is_ —just a little shy. The kind of shy that puts on a “cool guy” persona all the time.

So Atsumu usually took the initiative. Inviting him out for quick bites and study dates at the student union-run coffee shop with a sort of vibe that had always been too hipster for Atsumu but Sakusa seemed to enjoy to a large degree, even though Sakusa would always say no, he can't, he's busy.

In the beginning, it wasn’t exactly easy. He used to lock his door and plug in his AirPods so that he didn’t have to hear the blonde bang his fist on his door and jiggle the handle aggressively. And when he did finally succumb, he didn’t have the nicest attitude, but Atsumu could put up with that. Sakusa really was just a boy who sucked at expressing his emotions, unless those emotions were anger and annoyance, but Atsumu worked hard to get him out of that shell.

Eventually, it led to an unlikely friendship, and Atsumu still, to this day, takes pride in the fact that he had been the one to encourage it all, and then comes the horror of possibility shattering that. It came real fast, like a jolt of lightning that struck him upon realization.

“Hello?” Atsumu remembers calling out stupidly to, what he thought was, an empty locker room.

Sakusa had appeared around the corner, a bag slung on his shoulder, and Atsumu’s jaw had dropped despite his control, and he heard the harsh clink of his teeth when he forced his mouth closed. Sakusa was dressed from head to toe in complete formal attire—black slacks, pointed dress shoes with half an inch on the heel (god, was he fucking _tall)_ , and a black button-up with collars so crisp Atsumu suspected it was probably brand-new. He had left the top three buttons undone and Atsumu could’ve sworn they both heard him swallow.

He cleared his throat quickly. “Where’re ya goin’ lookin’ all fancy like that?”

Sakusa had dropped his bag on the bench before coming around to the side where Atsumu stands (keep in mind he had been buck naked under the towel that hung low and loose around his waist) and dropped to take a seat next to it.

“My mother wanted to grab lunch with me.”

Atsumu blinked. “Why’d ya stay late then?” He knew Sakusa never showered in the public stalls; he would rather take the trek home to shower in the confines of his own private bathroom than stay, so it was weird to see him after. Plus, Atsumu had stayed a little later than normal that day, too.

Also, formal wear. For lunch? With his mom? It wasn't _that_ weird, but it really made things kind of difficult for Atsumu, now hyperaware of the way his towel rubbed against his hips whenever he went through with the slightest motions.

“I wouldn’t have had time to go home and shower.”

Well, that most certainly had to be a lie. It had been nearly an hour since their training for the day had ended. Furthermore, he was still here, as though he was waiting for someone. For him?

He shrugged, trying his best to put on as nonchalant as a front as he could, and turned around to stuff his things further into his locker before closing it. “Better get goin’ then.”

“Atsumu.”

A peek over his shoulder later, he was suddenly very aware of how close Sakusa had gotten. He could feel the metal of the locks dig into his lower back, bitingly cold—a stark contrast to the rush of heat that flooded his face when Sakusa leaned in close.

He hadn’t known how to respond. For a few seconds, all Atsumu did was stare, gaze flickering back and forth between the other’s dilated pupils, with his breath caught at the back of his throat because he was scared a shaky exhale that came through would shatter whatever fragility was strung high between them.

Then, he pulled away, and Atsumu felt like he was going to pass out with stars dancing behind his eyelids.

“Never mind,” Sakusa had stated, and then he left.

It’s precisely why Atsumu, during that moment, had feared with a newfound and unfamiliar sort of intensity that something he wants so badly may never happen; something he had kept hidden and refused to let rise to the surface in case Sakusa saw through it all. Even with his tireless efforts of trying to make Sakusa Kiyoomi _his,_ there was the brutal truth and fact, like a wide palm striking across his cheek, that Sakusa could leave him in the blink of an eye.

He won’t admit it now but, for the briefest moment in that locker room, still stunned after what had happened, he wondered if Sakusa maybe liked him back, even if it was just a little. There was no point dancing around it, he was either going to push through with it even though he was pretty much going off of a small, almost insignificant encounter, or he was going to act like nothing had happened.

Atsumu went with what he does best: pretend those feelings don’t exist. Don’t show it. It isn’t there. What’s there is Sakusa, a friend and a fellow gymnast, who Atsumu had become best friends with. It wasn’t too hard—he was used to covering things up to gain or keep something else, although those were of a smaller scale. Whatever he had with Sakusa then was something much bigger and much scarier, but still—the same idea nonetheless, right?

It especially helped their bond and Atsumu’s forgetting of that incident when the bold headlines came through on a balmy summer afternoon, two years after they had met, while they were doing their warm-up stretches together: “Miya Atsumu Representing Japan in Gymnastics Rings Event for 2024 Olympics.”

The phone had been shoved in his face and Atsumu couldn’t stop looking at the image of himself, smiling with a gold medal he had earned at a national competition earlier that year, under the header of the nationwide news article. He had been expecting it. He was scouted for a reason. He didn’t train all these years with a goal to only dip his toes into the world on the international stage.

He wanted to completely submerge himself in it.

Either way, it didn’t help the nervous butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

Sakusa had congratulated him and got right back into stretching, but Atsumu’s gaze lingered. That night, he refreshes the website every ten minutes with high hopes of seeing Sakusa’s name pop up at the top. It didn’t, not until two weeks later. He had been introduced as Japan’s representative athlete in horizontal bars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI IM BACK AGAIN
> 
> hope u guys are ready for this one LMAO it's a bit of a long one but !!! this was just a little bit of an introductory chapter AND I KNOW THERE SEEMS TO BE A BIT OF SLOW BURN GOING ON SO FAR but i promise it's not actually HDFHHD the fic is SO CLOSE to be finished !! there will be updates every monday :3c
> 
> pls join me on my [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) !!
> 
> also, if you'd like to check out my day one, [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438676) it is! super fluffy, 9.5k words of skts loving each other :3c


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Omi.”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “You didn’t answer me last night.”
> 
> It’s that look again.
> 
> “Did you _want_ me to kiss you?” Of course Atsumu wanted to him to kiss him. He _wants_ to kiss him, wants to toss his drink to the side, carpets be damned, and lunge for those lips, caressed by the teasing trace of a pink tongue. His hand has found its way to Sakusa’s thigh, gives it an experimental squeeze like he isn’t sure whether Sakusa will push him away or not, but he doesn’t—not even when their lips brush, and still doesn’t when a minute later, Atsumu finds his tongue shoved deep in Sakusa’s mouth.
> 
> It should be embarrassing, kissing like this in front of so many people, but it really isn’t. Their drunkenness has made them shameless, he thinks, or maybe Atsumu is just desperate.
> 
> “Atsumu,” he hears him say, then feels the bite of teeth into the side of his neck, careful to not leave any marks. Atsumu thinks he doesn’t care if Sakusa _does_ leave something there, maybe he _craves_ it. He sure as hell imagines it. “Do you want to get out of here?”

It didn’t come as too much of a surprise to Atsumu when he, one day, was keenly aware of the heavy beating in his heart the moment Sakusa had leaned in a little too closely in an attempt to pluck a small fluff from his favourite down jacket that had wiggled its way between the strands of his hair. Unfortunately, Atsumu had to learn the hard way that denying a feeling sometimes only makes it burn stronger, and so, four years ago, he had come to the conclusion that yes, he liked Sakusa Kiyoomi.

So why, he wonders, does he still feel like the world has suddenly stopped spinning on its axis, time now frozen and faces blurring out in the empty space that  _ isn’t Sakusa  _ so that he can stare the other in his eyes, cheeks flushed and lips wet, when it has been  _ four long years? _ How is it that his heart can still pick up like this?

At what point will Sakusa give him a break?

The music in the back has dulled down to less than a simmer; it’s white noise. Atsumu can’t hear the voices, can’t hear the heavy thrum of the terrible remix of the newest release of whatever artist is hot right now, and then he misses the next words that fall from Sakusa’s lips.

“What?” Atsumu responds with instinct, blinking out of his stupor. It’s the alcohol. He swears it’s the alcohol, even though neither of them have actually had that much, but that’s where he directs his blame. He feels like he just swallowed a horde of butterflies disguised as dark, foreign whiskey.

The second time this happened had been more fleeting. Two weeks before they left for France, Sakusa had done the  _ exact same thing  _ without uttering a single word.

Their flights to Paris have been booked ages ago and all the invited athletes for Japan vibrated with so much energy the campus felt alive every day and night, and probably still feels like that, considering they landed today and everyone is probably on their toes waiting for the opening ceremonies to begin next week, but all Atsumu thought about, even as he boarded his plane in his Olympics jacket, was the  _ look  _ he had given Atsumu, eyes dark and attentive like he’s withholding something important and only from Atsumu.

What was it? Why did Sakusa look at him like that? Why is Sakusa looking at him like that  _ right now? _

He’s reminded of what had happened immediately following both of those incidents. He remembers scrambling home, cheeks flushed and his duffel bag purposely thumping against his front thighs in an attempt to hide the aching boner Sakusa had left him with, so he can rub them off with the scenario(s) flashing vividly behind half-lidded eyes.

Still, as clearly as they surface to his mind, it’s nothing compared to the real thing. This is the third time it happens. Atsumu swallows; he hadn’t realized his throat was so dry.

Sakusa stares unblinkingly and doesn’t repeat his words, so Atsumu holds his gaze into a staring contest. He knows neither of them like to give in easily, but Atsumu is finding it harder and harder to keep himself level with that intensity burning behind those heady black eyes, more potent than any sort of liquor Atsumu has ever had down his throat.

For both Atsumu and Sakusa, this is their first rodeo. They’ve heard stories from older Olympians—everyone knows what life in the Olympic Village is like. Atsumu, although having a terribly suffocating crush on Sakusa, isn’t going to turn down a good lay while he’s here, and he’s got a couple good reasons. It isn’t like he hasn’t thought about it. As a matter of fact, he spent, probably, an accumulated number of three, maybe four, days hardstuck on the idea of not sleeping around during the Olympics.

But maybe it’s the smarter thing to do. It’s him not giving into this want in his heart. It’s him trying to move forward because it’s not like he’s going to build much more with someone he spends one night with. Plus, Sakusa would be stupid to stay stuck in his room for the entire duration of the games. It  _ did _ take a little convincing to get him out to the bar, flooded with Olympic athletes from all over the world, but he's still here nonetheless, so Sakusa is obviously searching for something too, right?

And yet here he is—here  _ they  _ are, looking at each other as though they’re the only ones in the room. Atsumu blames the flick of fear licking him up on the idea of potentially missing out on a hot European swimmer and definitely  _ not  _ on the obsessive thought that Atsumu might end up taking  _ Sakusa  _ home instead if neither of them are going to break this off.

Sakusa leans in closer, and Atsumu’s fingers curl tightly around the bartop counter.

Oh, god. What the fuck is happening?

“Are we about to kiss right now?” Atsumu blurts out with a bout of incredulous laughter before  he can even stop himself.

_ Say yes,  _ Atsumu thinks, eyes widening when Sakusa’s eyes drop a little lower,  _ please, for the love of fuckin’ god, say yes.  _ He blinks and suddenly Sakusa feels miles away.

Fuck, did he really just say that? Why did he say that? Maybe he hadn’t heard him. Atsumu  _ hopes  _ he hadn’t heard him, because now he fears he might have just tossed their friendship out the window as easily as those words had left his mouth.

Actually, Atsumu really wishes he could have just leaned in and closed that fucking gap. Selfish, maybe, but distantly he thinks about Sakusa kissing him back and enjoying the feel of Atsumu’s lips on his. He wonders how he kisses — as soft as his lips look? Or as hard and hungry as his eyes had been just moments ago?

Sakusa downs the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, eyes diverted by the bartender behind the counter, and slides his glass away from him with a clear grimace.

“I’m going to talk to Hinata.” He leaves and disappears into the crowd to find the balance beam athlete, second time at the Olympics.

Atsumu is twenty-five and still, admittedly, trying to navigate his way through the craziness the Olympic village offers. He doesn’t know how the little guy does it. For a moment, he thinks about joining Hinata along with Sakusa, but how can he? After  _ that?  _ Sakusa hadn’t even said anything when Atsumu had let those words slip, and yeah, he does regret it a little. It seemed like he shattered whatever was happening, and although he did panic a little bit, he still  _ liked  _ it. He always likes it when Sakusa has his eyes on him.

He’s about to hop off his stool when someone speaks out to him from behind his shoulder.

“New here?”

Atsumu’s fingers rest around the drink offered in front of him. His English-speaking skills aren’t great, but he manages his way around the conversation without too much difficulty.

“Yeah,” he responds, turning the glass in his hands. “What’s this?”

“Bourbon. You look like you need one.”

It’s then that Atsumu really gets a good look at the man. He’s tall, and his tanned skin is a giveaway sign to Atsumu that he must spend a lot of time out in the sun. He notes the USA flag stitched under the embroidery of the Olympic rings, high up his arm.

Ten minutes later and Atsumu is already beginning to feel like this conversation is a little one-sided. He had learned the other is a runner for the one hundred metres sprint and that this is his third time here. It’s most likely information he won’t remember in the morning despite Atsumu being the one listening more than talking (for the first time, wow!) and he ascribes the guilt to his poor English.

He scans the crowd without meaning to and catches Sakusa’s eyes in the far corner, lips drawn in a tight line as Hinata’s head bobs excitedly with whatever story he’s telling. Atsumu suddenly wishes he’s  _ there  _ instead of here. He hardly hears what Mr. USA says as he watches Sakusa lean down to say something in Hinata’s ear, and then he’s making his way to Atsumu.

Oh, shit, he’s making his way to  _ Atsumu _ . He turns, quickly apologizing to the runner. “Sorry, please give me a moment.”

He turns again, just in time to cut off whatever distance Sakusa has to walk before his bent knees knock into strong thighs. “Hey,” Atsumu says, a little breathlessly, “what’s up?”

“I’m heading back.”

Curiously, Atsumu sneaks a glance past Sakusa’s shoulders. He’s not with anyone. It’s not  _ that  _ surprising, but Atsumu obviously assumed the worst when he had agreed to come with him, so he still feels somewhat relieved. “You goin’ back alone?”

“I came with you, and you look…” Sakusa’s words trail off, eyes flickering upward and past Atsumu’s shoulders, “... busy.”

Right, yeah, but no, Atsumu is not actually busy. “Uh, nah, not really. I’ll head back with you, gimme a sec, yeah?”

Sakusa waits where he stands, observing the back of Atsumu’s head (he can feel his stare) as he apologizes to the runner for having to call it quits so early —tells him he has an early morning tomorrow, and it isn’t exactly a lie. He was so used to being a night owl in his younger years, it was difficult adjusting to Sakusa's schedule, but he wanted to. He prefers waking up earlier now, just so he can catch Sakusa in time for breakfast.

The walk back is silent. They can hear the excited cheers from all the restaurants and bars they pass in understandable anticipation for the Olympic games, but neither of them say a word. It isn’t exactly awkward, but Atsumu isn’t a fan of the quiet, either.

“Are ya cold?”

Sakusa gives him a look. “It’s summer.”

“Well—’kay, I  _ know  _ that, I was just… makin’ sure,” he defends, the last bit of his words trailing off quietly. “Tired? It was a bit of a long day.”

“Not really,” Sakusa responds easily, scanning his key pass by security. Atsumu follows suit. “Are you?”

Well, even if Atsumu  _ is  _ tired, he doesn’t want to go back to his room yet, but he also doesn’t know if Sakusa will let him into his. It’s a little different here, they both know that. There’s a sort of implication here that tells everyone people only visit each other for one reason, and Atsumu would hate to make Sakusa uncomfortable. As much as he wants to get him in bed, maybe hold his hand and kiss the twin moles above his brow, the last thing he wants to do is push past a boundary.

“A little bit,” is what he goes with. He watches Sakusa push the button to his floor on the elevator. Atsumu has two seconds to make a decision before it becomes questionable.

He presses the button.

Neither of them say a word on the ride up until it stops moving, a woman’s voice announcing the floor level breaking the silence settling between them. Atsumu turns to smile at Sakusa, then gives him a wave. “Night, Omi-kun, see ya in the mornin’?”

“Goodnight, Atsumu. Don’t be late.”

Goodnight, his ass, Atsumu thinks bitterly, lips formed into a pout as he kicks his shoes off and flops over on his bed. His roommate isn’t home yet (he did catch a glimpse of him back at the bar), and he doubts he probably won’t even see him until the morning—that is, assuming he doesn’t get up earlier than Atsumu does, which already sounds a bit like a win in his books.

He’s not tired. He doesn’t want to sleep yet, not even after reappearing from the washroom, fresh and clean after a twenty minute-long shower and checking himself out in the mirror while brushing his teeth. It’s still only him, and he doesn’t mind—he hardly knows his roommate, other than the fact that he’s got one silver medal under his belt for freestyle wrestling at the last summer Olympics.

Atsumu crawls under his comforters, hands diving straight for his phone. Is it bad to message Sakusa right now? He stares at his home screen, then unlocks it to type out something short.

To: omi-omi

[23:21] r u sleeping?

He spends four minutes scrolling absentmindedly through Instagram, thumb instinctively double-tapping on every post he comes across, sometimes zooming in on Osamu’s pictures which almost always has Suna in it (suspicious, but he’s not going to ask—they’ve always been pretty close friends, but Atsumu has a feeling there’s something else there), and yawns. He’s midway through it, eyes half-lidded and vision blurring with the tears, when his phone vibrates in the loose hold of his hand.

From: omi-omi

[23:26] I thought you were tired.

[23:26] And no, I’m not sleeping, if me responding to your texts isn’t obvious enough.

A smile spreads across Atsumu’s face, soft and subtle, and his eyes brighten up as he shoots back an immediate reply.

To: omi-omi

[23:26] i ammmmm i just thought id check in on u

[23:26] what r u doing?

From: omi-omi

[23:26] I just finished washing my face. If you’re tired, you should go to bed.

To: omi-omi

[23:26] i am in bed

[23:27] but im not rlly tired anymore

[23:27] r u gonna try to sleep then?

From: omi-omi

[23:27] Maybe.

[23:27] My roommate just got back, so maybe not.

To: omi-omi

[23:27] ??? whos ur roommate

From: omi-omi

[23:27] It’s Bokuto Koutarou, the weightlifter.

To: omi-omi

[23:27] oh shit no way ???? rlly ???? dude that guys got a gold medal from 2020 ???

[23:27] have u talked to him yet

From: omi-omi

[23:27] Briefly. He’s usually not here.

To: omi-omi

[23:28] but he is now

[23:28] u should make a friend outta him LOL

From: omi-omi

[23:28] He’s very drunk. I don’t even think he knows I’m awake.

To: omi-omi

[23:28] wtf thats so creepy at least say hi or smth

From: omi-omi

[23:28] No.

[23:28] I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.

To: omi-omi

[23:29] fine :p

[23:29] night omiomi see u at breakfast

If Atsumu goes to sleep that night with a satisfied smile on his face, chest warm and head a little fuzzy, maybe from the alcohol, maybe not, then nobody knows but him, and he thinks he’s fine with that, at least for now. When he wakes up the next morning, it’s to a light hangover and the snoring of his roommate.

He grabs blindly for his phone on his bedside table that he had forgotten to charge before falling asleep last night and thanks the lord that he’s still got twenty percent battery keeping it up and running for another hour.

From: Omi-Omi

[8:16] Breakfast?

To: Omi-Omi

[8:20] fuck yea be there in a jiffy

Sakusa tells him he’ll meet him in the cafeteria. Atsumu doesn’t think he’s ever thrown clothes on so quickly before. He arrives and spots the other immediately, joining him at the table with a tired smile. He sets his plate down and hooks a foot around the leg of the chair next to Sakusa’s to pull it out.

“Hungover?” Sakusa asks without looking at him.

“Nah, not really. That was hardly enough to gimme one. Also, why the hell are there ten different kinds of breads? I didn’t even  _ know  _ ten kinds of breads existed,” he mumbles to his food, fork stabbing at his omelette, rich with mushrooms, tomatoes, and spinach. He never enjoyed tomatoes but had learned to tolerate them with his stupid-strict diet restrictions.

Sakusa shrugs. “There are more. It might help to learn what they are.” Then, “What is your schedule like today?”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t care, and second —how on earth will that help? It’s not like I’m picky over my bread. At the end of the day it’s all just carbs,” Atsumu retorts with a grumble.

He hears Sakusa huff out a short breath, but Atsumu can hear the amusement behind it. “Are you going to tell me when you train today?”

“Two. You?”

“At four.”

The party shenanigans are most likely going to start the moment everyone gets over their hangovers. He’s estimating three o’clock, but Sakusa doesn’t think they’ll start until the evening. Atsumu has to explain that, apparently, it’s always partying time for those that have the free time —something he had learned last night from the American sprinter (surprising, it’s the only thing he remembers from that guy).  The hook-up culture is bigger than they ever expected. Atsumu is pretty sure he saw two people slip into a public washroom yesterday while he was being carded for his room.

It’s a little while later that Sakusa speaks, “Did you… have fun last night?”

This time, it’s Atsumu’s turn to shrug. “It was a’ight. Nothin’ special.”

“I see. I thought you were going to…” His words trail off and it doesn’t sound like he’s going to finish that thought, but Atsumu has an idea of what he wanted to say anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

“Oh, nah, not really. I wasn’t that interested. It’s not easy gettin’ me into bed, y’know?” he tells Sakusa with a lilt in his voice, partially suggestive (just a little) but mostly teasing. He doesn’t know what the look on Sakusa’s face is supposed to mean, but Atsumu fears that he had been able to read between the lines to pick out the frustration there.

Sakusa blinks away. “I didn’t need to know that.”

There’s something Atsumu realizes right at this moment. Back then, he still occasionally slept around, just once or twice every few months, but it has been occurring less and less in favour of succumbing to his right hand late into the nights, images in his mind full of curly black hair, tiny moles, and long, slender fingers.

Despite what Sakusa had said, Atsumu has a feeling he knows of his habit of sleeping around. Atsumu doesn’t even want to call it sleeping around, because, maybe, the last time he had gotten a lay was three or four months ago. All things considered, it’s a pretty long time. Even so, now that he’s gathered here at a huge, international event with a bunch of high libidos and healthy athletes who actively participate in a gigantic fuckfest, he thinks he might be less disinterested than how he had initially felt when he first stepped foot in France.

Is it a bad thing? Perhaps. Will Atsumu regret not getting laid with that pretty Canadian beach volleyball player he had crossed paths with on his first day? Maybe, but it’s not the worst thing in the world if it means he might get to take his chances with Sakusa.

Training goes by slowly when Sakusa isn’t there with him, but he does show up about half an hour to four in his training gear to get his stretching and warm-up routine in. It’s always fascinating watching him on the bars. Atsumu had started with them, too, but ended up finding his true calling in rings shortly after. Sakusa had a natural affinity to it right from the beginning.

It’s no wonder he’s participating.

“Take a break,” his coach tells him as he drops to the mat, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, “and then we’ll take it from the top again. I know it’s only the first day, but we need you in your top shape the moment you step in here, you know?”

Atsumu knows he’s right. They had gotten two days off in a row —the day before their flight took off and yesterday, when they landed, which he can't say is exactly _uncommon,_ but with all the festivities going on, the sheer thrill from simply  _ being here  _ and knowing he’s representing his country, all of _that,_ it's enough to get into his head. He knows he slacked a little today, but looking at Sakusa, diligent and movements tireless, Atsumu finds himself raising from his squat.

Like him, Atsumu is here for a reason too.

When he rotates off, he stays behind to watch Sakusa complete his routine and only gets to see it once before he finds himself dozing off, head and neck supported by his duffel bag. Despite being in a completely different country and training in an unfamiliar gym, Atsumu has found himself in this position too many times to count.

It’s not surprising how many hours Atsumu spends just in the facility, whether he’s training, stretching, having a snack, or sleeping. Him and Sakusa have spent their entire days there, sometimes even just to hang out.

There’s a nudge of a foot against his arm, and Atsumu blinks awake, arms stretching past his head with a yawn. It’s always Sakusa who wakes him up, too.

“Get up,” he hears the other say. Atsumu rubs at the back of his neck and blinks up sleepily.

“‘s it party time?”

“Yeah, if you can stay awake for it,” mutters Sakusa, and Atsumu is left clambering for his things and following him out of the training facility.

Apparently Hinata had made friends with his surrounding neighbours (Atsumu doesn’t doubt him, he swears that guy can bring the best out of even the worst people on this planet) and they’re hosting some sort of a wing party. Sakusa and Atsumu were first on his list, obviously.

“Are ya goin’?” Atsumu asks when they scan their passes at security.

“Probably.”

“Well, are ya drinkin’?”

Sakusa gives him a pointed look but doesn’t respond, so Atsumu takes it as a yes even though he knows the other won’t drink much. He’s as strict about his own diet as Atsumu is about his daily water drinking reminders. He figures he might need to set up more of those if he’s sending his liver to hell tonight. He’s got training in the afternoon again tomorrow, so he supposes it’s an affordable luxury.

Atsumu takes the fastest shower of his life and chows down on an early dinner, excited to  _ finally  _ get some liquor in him. The first person he sees is Hinata, of course, and then Bokuto Koutarou next. Atsumu hardly gets intimidated, which is normal considering he’s six-foot-two and over two hundred pounds of pure muscle, but looking Bokuto in the face is like looking at his coach when he catches on to Atsumu having had a late night out, movements sluggish with a painful hangover.

“You must be Tsum-Tsum! Shoyou was just telling me about you!”

It takes a couple seconds for Atsumu to realize that Bokuto is actually holding on his hand and shaking it aggressively, and he swears he might accidentally tear his arm off.

“Tsum-Tsum?” he echoes quietly, confused but not exactly hating it, and offers a bit of a jerky smile. “Ah, yeah, hi, that’s me.”

“I heard it’s your first time here! How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s okay, not bad. Still kinda settlin’ in,” responds Atsumu honestly.

"C'mon!" Bokuto announces, then pours a shot into two cups. "Loosen up with me! It'll be fun!" He invites Atsumu to take it with him, and, well, who is he to say no? He takes it down like a champ, the burning sensation familiar all the way down to his stomach.

He had felt a little awkward at first, but watching Sakusa arrive later and be urged to swallow down the estimated ounce of rum Bokuto poured him is, admittedly, pretty damn funny. Atsumu is sitting on the bed closest to the window, hopes it's Hinata's but doesn’t really care if it’s his roommate’s, when Sakusa budges his way over and plops down next to him, shooting a nasty glare at whoever’s on the other side.

“Here,” says Atsumu with an offer, “switch spots with me.”

Sakusa seems to settle in comfortably by the headrest, body turned just slightly to face Atsumu. When their eyes meet, Atsumu swears there’s the briefest flicker of interest there, but it could really just be the lighting, or maybe even a figment of his imagination. It’s gone as fast as it comes anyway, because Sakusa reaches for his cup and holds it forward.

Confused, Atsumu reaches out to find that it’s empty, and then realizes  _ oh,  _ he’s asking for a refill.

To be honest, Atsumu doesn’t actually know what happens from there. Their conversation sits just above casual —how training had gone, what was good in the cafeteria tonight, and Hinata’s bizarre but incredible ability to almost befriend anyone on sight. Maybe it’s because they didn’t have too much of a drink last night, or maybe a small party with somewhat familiar faces is a more comfortable place than a club full of the Olympics participants flooding the VIP sections, but they drink more tonight; perhaps they’re a little tired, needed some time to kick into things, but Atsumu finds his tongue and cheeks numbing quicker than they had yesterday, head fuzzy and fingertips tingling.

He wonders if Sakusa feels it too as he watches the man sip from his cup, the fourth one that night, and then thinks about how his flushed face would feel under the touch of his palms. They’re a lot closer now, needing to accommodate the other bodies in the room, and Atsumu is suddenly feeling the heat of Sakusa’s thigh pressed against his own like it’s meant to burn him.

“Hey Omi.”

“What?”

“You didn’t answer me last night.”

He’d have thought Sakusa might want a little more clarification than that, but it seems he catches on as quickly as his words had left his mouth. Atsumu hadn’t even known he’d said it, but the wave of embarrassment he was expecting never comes, replaced instead by a sudden bubbling of desire.

It’s that look again.

“Did you _want_ me to kiss you?” Of course Atsumu wanted to him to kiss him. He  _ wants  _ to kiss him, wants to toss his drink to the side, carpets be damned, and lunge for those lips, caressed by the teasing trace of a pink tongue. His hand has found its way to Sakusa’s thigh, gives it an experimental squeeze like he isn’t sure whether Sakusa will push him away or not, but he doesn’t—not even when their lips brush, and still doesn’t when a minute later, Atsumu finds his tongue shoved deep in Sakusa’s mouth.

It should be embarrassing, kissing like this in front of so many people, but it really isn’t. Nobody even bats an eye at them, not even as a guttural moan escapes from Atsumu’s throat and is swallowed down by Sakusa’s inhale, blows hot and heavy on his skin. Their drunkenness has made them shameless, he thinks, or maybe Atsumu is just desperate.

They can’t do this here—they  _ shouldn’t,  _ but Atsumu is too far gone on the taste of Sakusa on his tongue to think _ , _ his drink forgotten somewhere to press his hands into a muscular chest, fingers clawing and needing to grab a hold of  _ something _ .

“Atsumu,” he hears him say, then feels the bite of teeth into the side of his neck, careful to not leave any marks. Atsumu thinks he doesn’t care if Sakusa  _ does  _ leave something there, maybe he  _ craves  _ it. He sure as hell imagines it. “Do you want to get out of here?”

This isn’t exactly what Atsumu had imagined when he hopped off the plane, his hands pushing Sakusa into the wall between two of the elevators as they wait for the familiar chime above their heads, but it’s the best he can have; the best he had hoped for but didn’t indulge in for a fear that Sakusa might not  want  him like this, panting out into his mouth and grinding down onto one of his thighs. But he does, right? He has to, otherwise Atsumu wouldn't be hear breathing whispers as kisses into his jaw.

A flurry of hollers echo down the hall, words in a language he doesn’t understand and can’t bother to decipher, and an image of him back to yesterday floods his memories, when he had made eye contact with a curly-haired brunette pressed into the wall just like this.

His cheeks redden, but not because of the intimate position he had seen them in, exposed and in the middle of a hallway, but at the way Sakusa fingers dig into his waist, then reach around to grab a handful of his ass.

They’re fitting in just fine, Atsumu thinks.

The elevator comes and they kiss their way inside, hands blindly feeling around for the button to Sakusa’s floor with a sideways peek and the accidental press of a couple other buttons. They stop at two floors before they finally reach the right one, and Sakusa pushes Atsumu into his room, fingers reaching underneath his shirt to flatten dry palms against his abs.

“Y’know,” Atsumu starts, gaze dragging across Sakusa’s body when he kneels on the bed, shirt coming off his head easily, “for how inexperienced you are, yer sure good at kissin’ people.”

Sakusa pushes him back down into the sheets with fingers to his chest, a small smirk on his face. It sends heat straight to Atsumu’s groin, not used to the way  _ cocky  _ looks on the other man. “Who said anything about inexperienced?”

Atsumu doesn’t even have time to react because Sakusa crashes forward, kisses him so hard like he’s trying to  _ prove  _ something to him; kisses him with an intention that makes his dick twitch in his black chino shorts and toes curl with anticipation.

This is Sakusa Kiyoomi with a side Atsumu hadn’t imagined could exist, even when he strips them of the rest of their clothes and leaves them naked in the warmth of the gentle wind from the open window. This is him, with a hand curled around Atsumu’s dick and two lubed fingers scissoring him open.

“Where the hell didja even learn to  _ do  _ this?” Atsumu chokes out, rocks his hips down and digs his fingernails into Sakusa’s shoulder blades. It’s a poor attempt at a mid-sex conversation with the way he moans disgustingly obscenely, an intense wave of pleasure spreading across all the nerves in his body and setting them alight when Sakusa cocks a brow and stares down at his half-mast eyes like he gloats at having Atsumu underneath him, erection flush in his fingers and nipples hard from earlier, when Sakusa’s tongue danced and teeth offered the pain of his bites.

“You’re not the only one who gets around, Atsumu.” There’s a squeeze of a third finger in him and Atsumu has to remind himself to relax around the thick fingers, mildly calloused in comparison to Atsumu’s own. He’s suddenly reminded of how Sakusa carries around hand lotion with him everywhere.

He doesn’t believe it. He has never  _ once  _ suspected Sakusa of taking people home, but it's not like he knows everything about him. He can’t say the idea of Sakusa knowing exactly what he’s doing doesn’t make something deep in him hungry, twisting dangerously.

Still, he says, “No way.”

“No?” The fingers curl, press into that muscle that has Atsumu’s eyes rolling to the back of his head with a silent cry, jaw dropped and a gasp choked at the back of his throat. Sakusa shoves his thumb inside Atsumu’s mouth, hooks it into his right cheek and then slides it to press right down into his tongue.

He’s going to come, Atsumu  _ swears  _ he’s going to come. He doesn’t even know how that’s  _ possible,  _ considering it usually takes himself much longer to get off, even without the decreased libido alcohol yields.

It’s the endorphins—it must be. There’s no way he can look at Sakusa, feel his fingers pump in and out of him, and not welcome that intensity through blurring inhibition.

“Omi,” he moans around his thumb, then feels it disappear. He doesn’t have the chance to say anything else because now there are  _ more  _ fingers in his mouth now, two rubbing down on his tongue and pressing in  deep  to gently prod at the back of his throat.

“Are you going to come, Atsumu?”

His thighs twitch open wider, toes curling to dig down into the bedsheets, and hips bucking upward violently with need.  _ Oh my god, I’m gonna cum _ —

The fingers stop moving but they don’t pull out, and Atsumu thinks he might have cried a little, a shameless wail echoing off the walls of the room. His chest stutters with his sob as he fucks himself down, but Sakusa pulls his fingers from Atsumu’s mouth to press a strong grip into his hips.

“Lemme come, Omi,” he begs, teeth sinking into the meat of his lip, “I was close, I was  _ so  _ close.”

“Not yet,” comes Sakusa’s reply, fingers pulled out from his hole. Atsumu clenches down on _nothing_ as he watches Sakusa's hand roll a condom over his cock. Atsumu can see him so well like this, halfway leaned forward, with the luminance of the moon, bright and white, casting its soft glow upon half his face.

He’s beautiful, Atsumu doesn’t say, but he still thinks it. He doesn’t  _ stop  _ thinking it even as Sakusa rubs a lubed hand over himself then traces back to Atsumu’s hole, quivering against the drag of fingers to rid them of the excess moisture.

“C’mon,” Atsumu pants out, hands reached forward to tug him down. Their lips don’t meet, but their foreheads rest against each other. It’s almost too intimate. “Get on with it, Omi. I thought ya knew what you were doin’.”

The hook is there. Sakusa’s eyes harden, the head of his cock sliding past the ring of muscles, then pulls back out. Atsumu’s hole clenches over where the tip sits, patient, and curls his hands into the coarse hair at the back of Sakusa’s head.

And then again, but this time he shoves in  _ deep,  _ hips pressed flush against the undersides of Atsumu’s thighs, and it chokes out the lewdest moan from both of them and a blabber of  _ oh my god, oh my god  _ from Atsumu’s lips.

“So…  _ deep!”  _ Atsumu pants out, eyebrows drawn and words accentuated with a harsh slap of skin. _"God,_ that's so deep. Feels so  _ good.” _

“You need to talk less,” Sakusa speaks out with an erratic breath, hands pushing Atsumu's thighs to the side, and drives his hips forward with such a brutal pace Atsumu swears he sees stars. He’s hitting him in  _ the best  _ spot, over and over again, and he’s afraid he’ll come embarrassingly quickly.

“What,” Atsumu manages it out between thrusts, means for it to sound provoking, but it falls a little short, “ya don’t like it? What are ya gonna do?”

Sakusa’s thumb slides across his cheek and dips into his mouth, groaning out when Atsumu purposely clenches down on his dick.

“Yeah? Ya like that?” He does it again, and then Sakusa is kissing him, thumb prying his mouth open as far as it goes and tongue catching his in a mess of saliva and vile moans.

They fuck like they’re desperate; like it’s the only time they’ll ever have each other like this, bodies sweaty with a workout known only to each other, shared only in the presence of breath against skin and lips on mouth. Atsumu comes with a cry of  _ Kiyoomi,  _ an explosion of sparks at the back of his eyes and a cloud of something akin to love spreading through his chest. He sits up, head spinning, and shoves Sakusa onto his back, their heads on the opposite end of the bed, and rides him so hard, a vicious newfound energy channeled to his thighs as he lifts himself up and drives back down.

_ “Fuck,  _ Atsumu,” Sakusa gushes out, head tossed backward and partway off the bend of the bed, and drives his hips up to meet the aggressive thrusts halfway. “Don’t stop— _almost.”_

And Atsumu doesn’t. Not until he draws that choke of a moan like a stuttered cry from Sakusa’s open mouth; not until he feels his dick twitch two times inside him, hips unmoving and squeezing around him at the feeling of nails forming little crescent-shaped imprints on the sides of Atsumu’s thighs.

Watching Sakusa orgasm is like watching fireworks. It’s better than the high that comes post-sex, their kiss sweeter than any dessert he’s ever tasted. Sakusa’s cheeks are flushed, eyes tired but never losing that intensity as he watches his dick slide out with the lift of Atsumu’s hips off him.

“Sorry about yer sheets,” says Atsumu as he helps pull the condom off to tie into a knot and toss into the garbage can between the two beds. He combs his bangs back, sweat soaked, and then hears the soft laugh from Sakusa’s lips.

“Not mine.”

Atsumu glances at him in confusion and lets the realization dawn on him. “We fucked on  _ Bokuto Koutarou’s bed?” _

Sakusa sits forward, arms propped up behind him. Atsumu’s eyes rake over the bulging muscles of his shoulders dipping into the curve of his triceps, and he swallows down on his spit.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then break out into a fit of snickers and giggles, both finding the situation funnier than it should be.

“You’re welcome to shower here,” Sakusa tells him and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “But, I’m going first.”

Atsumu grabs at a couple tissues to clean himself off. “Nah, ‘s fine. I don’t think I can stand bein' this sweaty. Why the fuck is it so  _ hot?  _ I thought the nights are supposed to be cooler here.”

“We just had sex.”

Atsumu sucks onto his lip, wills the giddy smile to stop forming on his lips. “Yeah, we did. You okay?”

Sakusa pauses at the door to the bathroom, then tosses a quizzical look over his shoulders. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I was just checkin’,” Atsumu mumbles through the haste of getting his clothes back on. He hates the way his shirt sucks into his skin like glue, but he’ll have to live with it for two minutes if he wants to make it past everyone without exposing anything he shouldn't be showing.

“Hey,” Sakusa calls out just before Atsumu is ready to leave. He lifts his gaze with a heavy heart, afraid of what might come from the other man’s end, but finds himself surprised to see the gentle expression, smile evidently present across kiss-bruised lips. “I enjoyed it.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu breathes out easily, instinctively, “yeah, me too.”

“See you tomorrow morning, Atsumu.”

His shower soothes the acute soreness in his muscles, water lukewarm in an attempt to cool himself. The walk back to his room had been a little embarrassing despite nobody really giving a shit. He had looked at himself in the mirror in horror, hair sticking out in places they usually don’t, and lips a dark red like he had been sucking on them the entire day.  For reasons Atsumu won’t think about right now, he doesn’t really mind it. He curls into his covers, sends a goodnight text to Sakusa after a couple minutes of consideration, and smiles his cheek into his pillow when he receives one back immediately after, like he had been waiting for Atsumu to message first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY MONDAY BABES !!
> 
> here's to starting off our week with drunk sakuatsu sex mmmm
> 
> don't be afraid to drop off some thoughts or comment !! they always make me incredibly happy <3
> 
> come find me on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) to cry with me about living in sakuatsu hell HAHA


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you thinking about?”
> 
> Atsumu hears it this time, crystal clear. There are only a handful of people who ever ask that question: his ma, Osamu, and then there’s Sakusa. He’s usually only truthful with two from that list, and it’s a pretty "go figure" situation.

“Y’know,” Atsumu mumbles after swallowing down a large spoonful of his yogurt, “I think I’m gettin’ kinda used to it.”

“To what?”

His spoon pauses just over his lip. “Huh? Like… the whole sleepin’ around thing?”

“Oh.” Sakusa blinks a few times —enough to make him look a little silly—and Atsumu stifles his laugh by shoving his spoon into his mouth. “It’s not a good thing to get used to.”

In some cases, he might be right. Getting used to sleeping around isn’t always a good thing, although most Olympic athletes would disagree because it’s really all they have time for, since their schedules are so ridiculously tight it's virtually impossible to build a somewhat meaningful romantic relationship with a significant other (and this is on a personal anecdote _with_ the support of fellow athletes), but Atsumu is reminded of two things before he provides his comment: 1) sleeping with Sakusa might be the only way for Atsumu to get  _ something  _ out of him, and 2) he’s afraid he’ll fall into some sort of a limbo where he’s not going to be able to draw the line because of his very overwhelming feelings for Sakusa.

Atsumu finishes his yogurt and sends a wink in Sakusa’s direction. “Well, I think I could get used to it with you.” There it is again—a little flirting won't hurt anybody. He's distantly aware he abuses this ability too much now that things have settled comfortably, to an extent, but he tries not to think too much about it. It’s probably the wrong thing to say in the long run, but he’s willing to cross that bridge when he gets there, especially since the Olympics isn’t going to last forever anyway.

Sakusa makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a snort, and it might be part of Atsumu’s imagination, but he almost looks embarrassed, the highs of his cheeks dusted pink. They drop their dirty dishes in the bins and Atsumu, through a stifling yawn, wonders if Sakusa was actually embarrassed or if he was just shy.

Embarrassed, like how he doesn’t say anything at all while they make their way out of the dining hall and to the elevators? Shy, like how he sneaks tentative glances at Atsumu when he thinks he isn’t looking? Atsumu is always looking, maybe not directly at him, but he’s conscious of the gaze that falls on the side of his face when he makes no move to push the button to his floor.

They’re both a little too tired to let whatever tension in the elevator get to them, but Atsumu, with his back pressed to the wall, is still cognizant of the vibrating underneath his skin, like there’s a promise of something there that doesn’t want to reveal itself just yet.

Daytime is less frightening, he thinks, and he supposes Sakusa agrees, albeit wordlessly, when they crash into Sakusa’s bed together, Atsumu with his face pressed to the pillows and arms ducking underneath it to feel the coolness of fresh sheets sliding against his skin.  They don’t  _ have  _ to do anything. It’s too early for there to be any implications, and he means that more for them than for anyone else to witness.

“Where’s yer roommate?” he mumbles, yawns again.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he came back last night.”

Atsumu rolls onto his back, eyes closed. “Well, guess that’s another thing I could get used to.”

Sakusa says nothing and Atsumu ends up falling asleep for a couple of hours. When he wakes up, it’s to sunlight illuminating the bottom half of his face and a shadow crossing over his eyes. He blinks awake, cheek squished against the pillow, and looks through his lashes to find Sakusa running a thumb up his screen slowly, like he’s reading something.

It’s not much of a surprise anymore —Sakusa is always reading, even told him about this one blog he pays a small monthly fee for just to read what people post about health, psychology, or whatever. Atsumu finds it admirable. He has so much room in his brain for information that’s never going to be much help, but loves to learn.

A few strands of black hair in loose curls fall over the side of his face. Atsumu studies the slope of his nose even though he’s already spent enough time mapping out every part of Sakusa’s face, from the way his eyebrows give away his emotions to the curve of his philtrum, back when they used to fall asleep in lounges, in bed together while studying, and on gym floor mats.

Now that he thinks about it, he spends too much time analyzing him, but he also knows it’s inevitable sometimes. Body like a Greek god, face slim to form a sharp chin down a cutting jawline—he’s a canvas that Atsumu can’t help but to admire, so sue him for not looking away when the head tilts in his direction, gentle eyes locking onto his own.

“Awake?” Sakusa asks, voice a little croaked, and then clears his throat.

Atsumu stretches out with a loud yawn, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, what time ‘s it?” he manages sleepily.

“It’s noon.”

They have roughly two and a half hours before they need to start getting ready for training, and since he’s pretty sure they both start at the same time today, he figures it might be all right to stay lounging for a little longer. He curls closer to Sakusa, knuckles brushing so lightly against grey sweatpants he’s pretty sure Sakusa doesn’t feel it.

“Hey,” says Atsumu, “are ya doin’ anything before training?”

Sakusa grunts in response and tells him, “No,” before directing his attention back to his phone. Atsumu shifts a little bit closer, feels the way the leg tenses slightly under his palms, then traces his fingers a little higher.

“Ya wanna… do somethin’?” he hints, chin now resting on his thigh. It’s been about four days since the first time they slept together. Admittedly, it  _ was  _ a little awkward at first, especially the next morning when they saw each other face-to-face, but after swallowing about five shots worth of whatever cheap shit he had picked up and a very drunk but thorough conversation of talking about this whole arrangement, accompanied by light jibes here and there, down the rabbit hole they went again.

Ever since then, they’ve slept together five times. Twice yesterday, which Atsumu spent too much time thinking about. This, at least, is something he can look forward to. He’d rather spend all his time at the Olympic village sleeping with Sakusa than with random athletes he won’t even remember the names of in the morning.

Sakusa draws his phone to the side to look down at Atsumu. “Like?”

“Y’know,” Atsumu drawls out and presses his lips into the sweatpants, all while maintaining eye contact with Sakusa, “we’ve got some time to kill.”

A hand comes down to weave through Atsumu’s hair, the touch like a caress; gentle and sweet. Atsumu indulges in it for just a moment. “I’m asking what you might suggest.”

Atsumu gawks stupidly. “Are ya seriously gonna make me say it?”

A tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but the way his fingers curl against his head tells him he  _ does,  _ he just wants to hear Atsumu say it. A tongue comes out to trace over his lips, body readjusting itself between Sakusa’s legs.

“Lemme suck ya off, Omi,” he whispers out, a palm sliding higher up his leg to cup him through his sweats, pleased to find him already half-hard. A sharp inhale from above him urges him further, fingers looping over the waistband to pull them down just far enough for his cock to spring free before his face.

The hand in his hair trails down to his cheek, then back up to guide him closer, mouth catching onto the top of Sakusa’s dick before sucking it all the way down. The action chokes out a guttural moan from the back of Sakusa’s throat, hand closing into a fist in the yellow strands of his hair.

“Fuck, Atsumu,” he breathes shakily, “you’re so good at this.”

The praise goes straight to his head, cheeks flushing with the desire to do  _ good;  _ he wants to  _ impress  _ him. He sucks as diligently as he trains, licks along the underside like it’s all his tongue is good for, and then kisses down the side like it’s the most precious thing he has ever had in his hands. And it honestly might be, especially when Sakusa is looking at him like  _ that,  _ like he’s never had anyone between his legs before—like Atsumu is  _ meant  _ to be there.

Sakusa is absolutely gassed, breaths heavy, stuttered past bitten lips, and expression so incredibly candid Atsumu finds he can’t look away, not even as he pulls back and sucks down again, and again, and again, just to see the bliss blossom across glassy skin, a little tanner than in the winters.

When Sakusa comes, he shoots it down Atsumu’s throat with a hand pressing down on the back of his head, hips lifting just slightly, and Atsumu, like a champ, takes all of it. He flattens his tongue against the underside of Sakusa’s cock, attempting to catch all of it but fails when it starts dribbling from the sides of his mouth. He closes his hand around the base of his, strokes up, and then licks it off his fingers.

Sakusa does not look away, but when Atsumu asks for a kiss, he scoffs and tells him, “No,” not that Atsumu really minds because he knows it might be a  _ little  _ gross to the other male. He get ups and is about to go rinse out his mouth when a hand catches onto his wrist to pull him back down onto the bed.

“Turn around.”

Atsumu blinks once. “What?”

“I’m not done with you.”

_ Oh.  _ Well, when he puts it like that, there’s no way anything will stop Atsumu from complying, right? Still, a nervous laugh bubbles from his mouth as he puts his knee back on the bed, yelping in surprise when hands on his waist pull him up and back. He drops to his arms as Sakusa hooks his fingers into the waistband of his shorts and boxers to pull them down to his knees, hears the cap of a lube bottle pop open, and isn’t prepared for the way a cold wetness smears against his hole.

A finger presses its way inside, slow and careful, but Atsumu wants  more already  and arches his back to push against the pressure, chest pressed to the comforters. There’s a small sting of a slap against the side of his thigh, surprising but embarrassingly welcomed if the way his cock twitches is any sign of that.

“Up,” Sakusa tells him. Atsumu dares one glance past his shoulder, breath catching at the back of his throat at what he sees: dark, intense eyes, so attentive Atsumu feels naked under his gaze; like he’s searching for every dirty little thing he has ever kept hidden within the confines of his mind. His curls fall over his forehead, shoulders squared and jaw tight, and then he twists his finger to prod at Atsumu’s prostate like he’s completely mapped him out in the past few days—know _exactly_ where it is.

_ “Omi,” _ he whines out, head dropping to brush the cotton of the pillow cover.

“Hm?” Sakusa drawls out the hum, edges the rim with a second finger, and then pushes it in to pull a mewl right from Atsumu’s lips.

Sakusa fucks him with two fingers pumping in and out of him for two long minutes—it’s not enough unless he has a hand gripping his own cock, but every time he attempts to reach for it, a hand swats over his to knock it away. When a third finger slides in, excruciatingly slow, he welcomes the stretch and appreciates how full he feels, but it goes away too soon, and Sakusa is moving too slow.

Atsumu drops his head completely, leaving his ass perched up, and is consciously aware of how much he’s sweating, fingers clenching into the bedsheets. He teases Atsumu like that for so long his thighs begin to tremble. He knows he was told to hold still and keep his hips up, but his self control is beginning to slip. His cheek rubs forward with every thrust of Sakusa’s fingers, chest sliding so far his cock grazes the covers.

He peeks down to find it soiled, precum dripping from the tip to the sheets, and then attempts a couple thrusts back into Sakusa’s fingers. “Can’t ya go any faster? Yer killin’ me here.”

Sakusa makes a noise at the back of his throat, low and content, like whatever situation he currently has Atsumu in is rewarding to him. “We have time, don’t we?” he muses, resetting the pace to one that's  _ even more agonizing.  _ Atsumu cries out wantonly, desperate. “I remember you telling me that, Atsumu.”

A deep embarrassment swells inside of him, a wave of understanding hitting him all at once: it’s not difficult flipping the tables, turning around and climbing on top of the other male so he can get his way with him, but he finds, scarily, that he doesn’t  _ want  _ to. He sobs into the pillow, hole clenching down on his fingers. He  _ wants  _ to let Sakusa do whatever he wishes to him; he’s willing to give up everything for this man, and if it means he’s going to be here for an hour and only have the slow drag of slender fingers and kissable knuckles sliding in and out of him slowly, then so be it.

For nearly ten minutes, they do this. Atsumu quivers in his bliss, cheeks flushed and forehead sweaty as he lays there with his chest down and ass up because all he can do is just  _ take it;  _ he lets Sakusa give him whatever he wants to offer.

“How does it feel?” he hears Sakusa speak above the soft panting and moans from Atsumu. He’s calmed down significantly, succumbed to the push-and-pull service of those hands, the gentle kisses littered along his back.

“Good,” he mumbles, mind a muddled mess. His eyelids flutter closed, but his breaths still come out quickly every time Sakusa brushes the tips of his fingers against the spot that sends electrifying jolts to the ends of his toes.

Then they disappear, but his complaint morphs quickly into a stuttered gasp of surprise when a hand on his hip rolls him onto his back. Sakusa smiles down at him, and it’s just a small quirk of his lips, but Atsumu thinks it’s absolutely  _ breathtaking. _

The fingers are back inside him after stripping his shorts the rest of the way off, and a hand closes down around the base of his cock at the same time, hard and red from being untouched for so long. He’s almost oversensitized after having gotten used to the amount of pleasure his body had been taking for the past ten minutes, but Sakusa goes slow. For once in his lifetime, Atsumu appreciates it.

“You look nice like this.”

Atsumu opens his eyes slowly, lids heavier than they have ever been, and flushes hard under that penetrating gaze. He manages out a quiet, “Yeah?” and Sakusa pumps his fingers just a little bit harder, the slightest bit faster. Atsumu chokes out a whimpered moan, back arching off the bed.

“Can you come?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out and nods desperately, “yeah, keep—keep going.”

Sakusa keeps the pace consistent, and Atsumu is prepared for when he feels that feeling in his gut, toes curled tightly. Sakusa seems to be ready for it, too, a thumb running over the top of his cock. Atsumu comes with his head tossed back, a messy blabber of  _ Omi, Omi, Omi  _ falling past wet lips.

“I’m going to take my fingers out,” he absentmindedly hears, gives a quick nod of affirmation, and then clenches down on absolutely nothing when the ends of those fingers are gone. He lays there, ecstatic, and then peeks an eye open to find Sakusa staring at him, but it’s gone the moment they make contact.

“That was good,” Atsumu speaks abruptly, the small of his back aching a little as he pushes himself up into a seated position. “I liked it.”

He watches Sakusa get up to go into the washroom, the tap running filling up the silence of the room. “Me too,” is all Sakusa says, but it’s also all that Atsumu needs to bring a smile back on his face.

For the days leading up to Atsumu’s competition, his days and nights are spent all over the place, but Sakusa is always there with him. For the most part, they stick to their regular routine: breakfast, sometimes a nap depending on how late they stayed up the night prior, and training. Occasionally they added in a mix of something Atsumu likes to call “getting down and dirty” (it got him a light smack to the back of his head), and then when the sun begins its route to the horizon, they go to bars and parties and rewatch the competitions from that day with drunken laughter and cheerful yips.

It’s something Atsumu can get used to, but he and Sakusa both decided that today will be the last day they’ll put any more of that poison into their bodies if they want to cut back on the stress going into competition.

Training had been brutal with the way his legs trembled when he had to straighten out his back, toes pointed to the ground. His coach had noticed but said nothing about it and let him off five minutes early, but not forgetting to stress the importance of stretching and rolling afterwards. He briefly wonders if the coaches get down with it while they’re here, too.

He cranes his neck to look at the high bars as he drops to his elbows in a full split, eyes trained on how Sakusa’s hair floats and drops back to his forehead as he builds his momentum for his warm-up routine. His training shirt sticks to his body, sleeves hugging his arms so nicely he can see all the curves and edges of his triceps when he holds himself up, bar pressed against the bulge of his thighs.

Atsumu turns and presses his left armpit to the ground, then his right.

Fresh from his shower and radiating with post-exercise adrenaline, he begins to feel the climbing excitement of the party scene again. It reminds him of weekends back in university, except it’s a straight sixteen-day bender through it all, but Atsumu will be lying if he says he isn’t at least a  _ little  _ bit tired of it, and he had never thought that day would come. He supposes it’ll be different if he was as interested in flirting with everyone in all sorts of settings as Team USA does so shamelessly, but he’s resolutely tied down to one man. Unrequited.

But he doesn’t really mind it. Atsumu is known for his great sacrifices, after all.

A group of Russian men run past him in the hallway in nothing but their underwear as Atsumu makes his way back to his room. They’re wearing huge flags as capes around their shoulders while hollering something that echoes in his mind all the way back to the comfort of his shared room.

He opens the door to find that that is  _ not  _ the case because it looks like his roommate is balls deep in a thick-thighed athlete, all three of them somewhat caught off-guard but, through the muffled static of their minds, also realizing it's not exactly the worst situation to find any of them in. He catches the Italian flag on a track and field jacket hanging off the corner of the bed as he slams the door shut, blood rushing to his face so fast he’s dizzy.

Well, the more reason to get wild tonight, he supposes. That’s not exactly an image he wants to keep in his mind for the rest of his stay here.

Atsumu ends up in Sakusa’s room. He had initially planned on just sitting outside in the hallway and playing games on his phone while he waits for him to get back, but Bokuto walks out the moment he gets there and welcomes him in with a big smile and even bigger arms. They only chat for a couple minutes before he has to head out for his own training, so Atsumu is left alone in the room, body sprawled across the covers and staring into the ceiling as he waits the remaining, probably, forty minutes of Sakusa’s training.

It’s to nobody’s surprise he ends up falling asleep. Upon regaining consciousness, the first thing he notices is the rush of water running in the washroom, and then the next, after blinking his eyes open with a scrunch, is the orange and its casted shadows dancing across the plain walls of the room.

The door opens while Atsumu’s in the middle of rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, feeling a little more tired than when he had felt before falling asleep.

“Nice nap?” Sakusa asks, dressed in a pair of black jeans and a white- and red-striped long sleeve, buttons undone partway down his chest. Since when did he own that shirt? It must be new, because Atsumu has never seen him wear it before, and he would know because he looks fucking  _ good  _ in it.

“Kinda,” is what he answers with , still trying to wake from his sleepy haze. “Shit, what time is it—why didn’t ya wake me up?” He glances to his right to find Sakusa leaning slightly into the bathroom counter, hands busy rubbing hair wax into his palms, hair still a little damp at the back. He looks good from where Atsumu sits, shoulders broad, tall and polished, and his jeans fitting him dangerously well.

“It’s almost eight, and I didn't want to wake you up. You looked tired.”

Atsumu snorts. “Didja forget it’s the last night we’re allowed to get our drinkin’ game on? I was plannin’ on gettin’ started early.”

“Just start now.”

“Is that why yer all dressed up?”

Sakusa’s movements pause before he cranes his neck to pass a sideways glance at him. “Am I dressed up?”

“Well, ya sure look it.” Atsumu gets up and walks over, then catches the whiff of his everyday cologne, but it’s a little stronger than usual. “Got a hot date?”

“Who knows,” Sakusa mutters, fingers brushing a strand of his curls to the side. “Why were you here?”

“Sexiled.”

The other scoffs as he shuts the door behind him. “How did you get in?”

“Bokuto was here and he lemme in. Why? Is that bad?”

“I guess I’ll have to talk to him about letting people into my room to sleep in my bed.”

Atsumu feigns hurt, but there’s a tease sitting just underneath his words that lift the slightest bit of tension sitting in his shoulders. “Hey! I’m not just anyone! Ya’d lemme in, right?”

Sakusa shrugs, then holds onto Atsumu’s gaze in the mirror. For a brief moment, neither of them say anything, but just as Atsumu opens his mouth to try and break it up, Sakusa asks, “Are we going or...?”

They end up at the bar they visited their first day here. It's nearby and filled to the edges with Olympic athletes, and neither of them really enjoy long walks at night when they can hardly see their feet. Atsumu had taken an extra half hour to get ready because he had wanted to take a quick rinse from the sleep sweat he had gathered while laying in the heat of the summer sun for almost four hours, and he had also felt the need to dress up somewhat nice too, in comparison to his usual “going out” clothes.

He’s hammered by the time the clock hits an hour to midnight, but he’s also pretty sure the bar is bumping now more than ever. Team Korea sits in the booth next to theirs, just as rowdy as them, Team China on the other side. The two Canadian athletes Atsumu recognize from watching the beach volleyball competition crowd around the middle of the bar, blaring red and white team jackets stretched across their back to cover their bikinis.

Atsumu can't remember anyone's faces anymore as he drapes himself over the table, chatting loudly about a silly childhood story he shares with his brother, body squished between Sakusa’s and Hinata’s.

Somebody appears at the table, and Atsumu has to blink through the darkness of the area before realizing it’s Kageyama, who Hinata had introduced as the taekwondo athlete, coming back with a couple of waters, one of them specifically requested by Sakusa for Atsumu.

He chugs half of it like he’s parched, probably because he is. He turns, jaw propped on the heel of his palm, and blinks slowly at Sakusa. For a moment they just look. Atsumu has come to realize that recently, they’ve been doing a lot of that. It’s not uncomfortable, but he feels like there’s some sort of exchange happening there despite so many words unspoken, and he doesn’t even know where to begin.

By telling him that he likes him? That he doesn’t want him wearing nice clothes and pushing down on his cologne bottle for one more spritz if it doesn’t mean it’s only for him to attest to? Atsumu can’t do that.

Sakusa reaches forward and slides his water glass a little closer to him. “Drink,” he mouths, because both of them know he isn’t a fan of raising his voice. Atsumu grabs the glass and tips it back, chugs the rest of it down while maintaining his eye contact.

Does he tell him how happy he makes him feel when he looks at him like that? Why does he look at him like that? None of these questions reach his tongue, staying rooted where they’ve been nesting for years.

It’s been years, and Atsumu has gotten so used to never speaking a word of it. He supposes it’s something he’s good at: he’s loud, talks too much, but never about the important things, and nobody —nobody at all—has ever pointed it out.

Did you eat? That colour looks good on you. What’s been on your mind? Hey, let’s talk.

It’s not too hard to figure which part of that guides most of his daily conversations, and for a really long time, Atsumu didn’t mind. He hadn’t minded it at all when Sakusa got love confessions, didn’t care either when he told him Atsumu isn’t the only one who “gets around,” but in light of recent events (see: fucking), he is starting to wonder if this is actually good for him.

Part of him doesn’t want to end whatever the hell they have going on, but another part of him, an even more selfish part, thinks maybe he just wants to hold his hand; kiss him with no inhibitions, smile and hug and fall asleep in the same bed.

And he can’t have that, now, can he?

“What are you thinking about?”

Atsumu hears it this time, crystal clear. There are only a handful of people who ever ask that question: his ma, Osamu, and then there’s Sakusa. He’s usually only truthful with two from that list, and it’s a pretty "go figure" situation.

He smiles, lopsided. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout what ‘Samu is doin’ right now.” Not at all.

“Do you miss him?”

Atsumu’s brows twitch upward with a small nod. “Yeah, sometimes, but I visit when I can and we call all the time, so.” He makes a gesture, then shifts a little bit closer. “Hey, gotta pee, lemme out.”

Sakusa slides out of the booth. “Do you need someone to go with you?”

He gives him the silliest look, but ends up stumbling when he gets onto his feet, clearly having accidentally underestimated his drunkenness. Sakusa, thankfully, catches him in his arms, then rolls his eyes as he guides them to the washroom.

He doesn’t remember when the last time he had gotten this drunk was. It might’ve been on his birthday, when he and Osamu had their yearly drinking contest, but this feels significantly different. It’s not in the comfort of his brother’s restaurant, lights warm and yellow, with a plate of familiar food on the table and empty beer bottle caps flicked to form a pile.

This is dim lights, sweaty bodies, and music loud enough to hurt if he’s sober right now, probably. This is Sakusa with an arm around Atsumu’s waist as he leads him into a stall, a rapid knock of knuckles against the door when he throws up into the toilet bowl, and the look of concern on his face when Atsumu stumbles back up and shoves his way to the sink because, even in his stupor, he’s still conscious of the fact that Sakusa might find him gross.

“Sorry,” he croaks out after rinsing his mouth a few times, water still dripping down his chin. His vision blurs but he diverts his eyes from Sakusa’s anyway and reaches for some paper towels from the dispenser.

He doesn’t see the look on Sakusa’s face, but the apprehension seeps through his voice, and then there are hands steadying him at his side again.  “Do you want to go back?”

Probably, he should say, but he hates leaving early and being a bit of a killjoy, although he can always come up with a believable excuse. He thinks Sakusa reads the uncertainty on his face because he voices out, “I’ll take you back,” and leads them out past a loud group of Swedish athletes, discernible by the small temporary tattoos of their flag on their red cheeks.

The summer night breeze is much appreciated when they finally make it out of the bar, raucous voices filtering out from behind them even as the door closes shut.

“Hey,” Atsumu slurs, shoulder leaned into Sakusa’s side as he’s being lightly urged down the sidewalk.

“Are you cold?” Sakusa asks.

Atsumu barks out a loud laugh, eyes half lidded and cheeks rosy pink. “I asked ya that  _ last  _ time. Still r’member whatcha said?” His head is tilted towards him, a little too close to be comfortable but he doesn’t have the mind to chew it over at the moment. He might have missed the way Sakusa’s breath hitches if he isn’t constantly paying him ardent attention.

“Ya told me it’s summer,” Atsumu finishes for him. "Hey, 'm sorry—that ya had to get away f'r me. Ya probably shoulda stayed, y'know? 'm pretty sure I can get back jus' fine."

"I was ready to go whenever."

Atsumu lands face-first into his bed, legs still partially dangling off the edge, and suddenly misses the way Sakusa’s hands had felt around his waist. He’s had more of him, obviously, fists in his hair and fingers up his ass, but all that swallows his mind is the idea of Sakusa having walked him all the way home, hands careful and concern unwavering. He thinks about him spending the night by his side; has the passing idea of shooting his hand out to stop him from leaving.

“Hey,” he voices, “don’t go.”

A bob of the throat, tight lips, and tensed shoulders, yet all Atsumu takes in is the mellowness swimming in his eyes, the dance of his brows as they come together in the middle.

“Okay.”

Atsumu knocks out like a light, and despite the shitty air conditioning and open window, air humid and neck sweaty from a night’s worth of drinking and shuffling through heated bodies, Sakusa’s warmth is still appreciated when he climbs in next to him, hands settling tentatively over his frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI im so sorry im late,,
> 
> i made a terrible decision of Not Sleeping and avoiding responsibilities by playing league of legends and valorant all night HDJFHS
> 
> come find me on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) !!
> 
> and thank you again for reading! hope everyone's enjoying it so far :D


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